


Drunk On A Plane

by Vwr4922



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Airplane, F/M, Flight Attendant, Harry's parents are alive, Muggle AU, Strangers, no magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:00:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23436586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vwr4922/pseuds/Vwr4922
Summary: Inspired by the song Drunk On A Plane by Dierks Bentley
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	Drunk On A Plane

“Can I help you find your seat, sir?” a silvery voice asks from behind him, causing Harry to snap out of his daydream.

“Uh yeah, sorry,” he says, handing the stewardess his ticket. The shot he took in the bar before boarding wasn’t doing anything to help his already shoddy vision. That doesn’t stop him from momentarily admiring the fair skin and freckles of the short woman now standing in front of him. His eyes journey from hers to the tight ponytail that corrals her charmingly red hair stops when she speaks again.

“It’s no problem, it’s somehow easy to get lost in the numbers on here,” she responds comfortingly, running a cleanly manicured finger over his boarding pass in search of his seat number. She makes a small clicking sound with her tongue as she looks up at him, locating his seat number. “You’ll be in seat 7A, just back there.” She points to a seat halfway down the aisle, a black seven on a small golden plaque obvious above the seats.

“I suppose I should have been able to figure that out myself,” he jokes self-deprecatingly, an embarrassed blush rising up his neck. If she notices, she doesn’t let on, just letting out an airy laugh as she follows him to his seat, expertly avoiding an elbow to the head as they pass a woman loading her carry-on into the overhead compartment. It doesn’t seem to alarm her at all, she just deftly maneuvers out of the way in what must be a practiced manner.

He reaches his aisle, shoving his bag in the limited space of the compartment above. His haphazard effort doesn’t accomplish much as he gives up with a corner of his bag still sticking out into the aisle. He sighs and sits down anyway. 

She allows herself a small smile above him as she hands him his boarding pass, which until she did, he had forgotten that she was behind him. His annoyance with himself growing as he let himself look stupid in front of the indisputably gorgeous flight attendant yet again. She doesn’t comment though, simply pulling his bag down and expertly shifting the ones left in the compartment. While she does, he can’t help but notice the sliver of skin exposed along her midriff with her arms raised above her head. It doesn’t take long until she’s satisfied with the compartment, adeptly lugging his bag back up, sliding it perfectly into the space she had just created.

“Thank you for showing me how utterly useless I am. Again,” he says, aiming for a joking tone but regretting it as soon as the words leave his mouth. She quirks an eyebrow up at him and gives him a puzzled smile. 

“That’s years of practice, don’t read too much into it,” she says, not knowing exactly how to respond to him. 

“Anyway, thanks for your help,” he says, pulling out the folder he had tucked under his arm. 

“No problem, Mr. Potter,” she says, her professional tone betrayed by the twinkle in her eyes. His eyes shoot up to her, shock and dread clouding his judgment as he searches for something to say.

“Excuse me?” He stupidly decides on, at a loss for how many people seem to know him wherever he goes.

“Your name’s embroidered on your carry-on,” she says, pointing sincerely at the overhead compartment. 

“So you don’t know who I am?” He asks, relief rushing over him as she looks at him in confusion.

“Should I?” She asks him honestly.

“No, I suppose not,” he says, settling back into his seat.

“Well, now I’m intrigued. Am I in the presence of a celebrity?” She asks, a sarcastic lilt to her voice. Their conversation has piqued the interest of a few other passengers around them, causing him to duck lower in his seat. 

“Not unless you count the son of the two wealthiest business owners alive as a celebrity. I’ve never done anything but for some reason, some people still find me interesting. Could you keep your voice down though, I don’t need to be trapped on a flight for twelve hours with adoring fans,” he pushes out in a hushed whisper.

“I think you might be overestimating your popularity a little there Mr. Potter,” she says, whispering it to appease him all the same. He rolls his eyes but smiles at her sentiment. “Is it just a line?”

He lets out a quiet laugh shaking his head. “I wish.” Normally he’d thank Merlin for surviving in relative anonymity but something about the way she’s leaning into the armrest next to him to avoid traffic in the aisle allowing her light flowery smell to reach him makes him want to keep talking to her. 

“You’ve never heard of Diagon Alley?” He asks her. She looked up in thought for a second before regarding him again.

“The shopping street in London?” She asks, not sure of her information.

“That’s the one. My parents own it,” he says.

“I’m sorry, I don’t get how that makes you famous,” she says, not rude, just confused.

“I haven’t really ever understood that either.”

“So what have you done with all this fame then?” She asks, clearly finding humor in his discomfort.

“Partied my way through high school,” he says, searching her face for any sign that she knows what he’s talking about. He doesn’t find any. “Crashed my parent’s car into someone’s garage.”

Her eyes widen slightly but she doesn’t seem to recognize him from any of his past, highly publicized, behavior. 

“I bought a boat with some mates from college and almost crashed that too. Tabloids loved that one. You’ve never heard of any of this?” He asks.

She shakes her head no. “My fan club invitation must have gotten lost in the mail.”

He smiles up at her, shaking his head. “That’s a shame.”

“Not an irreversible one though. I have a twelve-hour flight to research,” she says, mischief dancing across her face.

“Please don’t. I like it better when people don’t know,” he says, tone sincere.

“Okay, I guess I won’t. You did just spill your dirtiest secrets though, I’m afraid,” she says, mischief gone but a playfulness left all the same. 

“I blame that on the airport bar. But trust me that isn’t the worst.” She raises both eyebrows slightly.

“What have you killed someone or something? Should I be scared to speak to you?”

He smiles ruefully, not meeting her eyes anymore. The words seem to bubble up though, coming out easily against his better judgment. “I just got stood up,” he says, catching her gaze again. She doesn’t react much.

“On a date? Sorry mate but we’ve all been there.”

“Not a date. My wedding actually.” She sucks in a breath of surprise, her face contorting to somewhere between pity and what he imagines to be second-hand embarrassment. 

“Yeah, I guess that is a bit different,” she says shaking her head. He braces himself for the pity he knows are coming. The awkward follow-up questions. “So the name bit definitely wasn’t a line.”

If he thought he knew what she was going to say, that definitely wasn’t it. It catches him off guard which causes him to break down in genuine laughter for the first time in a while.

“Oi, Ginny! Can you stop flirting and come help me,” a boy in a similar uniform to hers, trousers instead of a skirt, yells from a dozen rows away.

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t look embarrassed at the accusation as she turns back to him.

“Duty calls, I guess,” she says, flattening out her skirt as she stands up straighter.

“Thanks for the chat,” he says, slightly embarrassed himself. 

“Anytime, Mr. Potter,” she says, still in a hushed tone at his request. She turns to walk away, but he grabs her wrist lightly before she can. She turns, not alarmed, just curious.

“Just call me Harry,” he says, letting go of her wrist even though her soft skin is more than inviting. 

“Ok Harry, Ginny,” she says, offering her own name in return.

“Gin!” The flight attendant from before yells, slightly louder this time.

“Coming, coming, relax Finnigan,” she says, voice loud enough for him to hear but not quite yelling.

She casts him one more furtive glance and a smile before walking over, pulling the suitcase out of the man’s hand and helping him arrange it securely in the space above the seats. Harry watches her until she disappears to another part of the plane.

* * *

“Can I get a John Collins?” Harry asks the male flight attendant as he brings the complimentary peanuts to him. 

“Of course, let me go grab that for you,” he says, walking away with a smile. 

Harry thanks him with a smile as he sets the folder he had been holding for the last hour on the empty seat next to him. The seat Cho was meant to sit in. Now he’s facing a two-week vacation in Cancun alone during what was supposed to be their honeymoon. 

“I thought you got drunk at the bar before takeoff,” a singsong voice says from behind him, its owner holding a cocktail. 

“Do I seem drunk?” He asks, his smile matching hers.

“Not yet, but this certainly won’t help and for someone who couldn’t even find their seat earlier, I’d be careful,” she said, setting down the glass in front of him, not leaving immediately and smiling warmly despite her accusatory words, a fact he is instantly grateful for. 

He takes a glance at his watch before talking again.

“Well, I am alone, an hour into a twelve-hour flight where I’m going to be alone for two weeks. So I don’t know if I’m completely opposed to getting pissed,” he said, obvious ice in his tone. She doesn’t flinch, knowing the barbs aren’t aimed at her. She narrows her eyes slightly at him, not suspiciously, just curious.

“I don’t know that I blame you,” she says. He smiles, taking a sip of the drink she brought for him. His eyes immediately widen.

“This is bloody amazing,” he says, quickly going in for another sip. 

“Thanks. I may or may not have been a bartender before I came here,” she says, no hint of sarcasm or deceit. 

“Can I get one of those as well?” The woman in the seat directly behind him asks, tearing her attention from Harry. 

“Of course,” she says, standing back up to move to the bar station. Before she gets there, another hand pops up.

“Me as well please.” Ginny just smiles and nods. 

“Hey Ginny, just get everybody one on me,” Harry says.

“Harry are you sure, your ticket only covers one,” she tells him, not wanting him to make a decision he’ll regret. He looks at the people around him, some looking hopeful, others nonplussed.

“How’s it going to be a party if not everyone has a drink?” Cheers ring out from behind him and Ginny rolls her eyes, shaking her head but a smile on her face. 

* * *

Ginny glances at Harry worriedly as she passes his seat for the eighth time within the hour. It looked like he had asked for the mini bottles from a few of the people next to him the way they were strewn across the tray in front of him and the one directly to his right. The folder he had when he boarded was lying on the empty seat next to him, his hand laid protectively over it. He flipped it open once, that she saw, looking at a photograph of a beautiful woman with distinctly Asian features. She’s standing while he’s kneeling below her. She can only assume it's an engagement photo. 

The man on the aisle across from him sent him intermittent disapproving glances, leaning over to whisper something to his wife every once in a while. He noticeably declined the drink he was provided with earlier and was one of the few passengers who wasn’t laughing or talking in the impromptu party in the air that Harry’s drink offer had created. Harry didn’t seem to notice the glances, nursing what looks like the last mini bottle of whiskey. 

It's dark outside the plane now, most passengers either settling in for the movie playing on the headrests or lying back for a kip, travel pillows around many of their necks and party long forgotten. Not Harry though. He’s definitely drunk at this point, but he isn’t being belligerent or anything, just staring off into nowhere only to refocus on either the bottle in his hand or the folder in the seat next to him. The first-class portion of the plane allows him to sit in his apparent misery without disturbing anyone directly next to him, his seat and the folder’s are alone in their half of the aisle.

When Ginny makes her next pass, not _completely_ to snoop on him, he flags her down with a wave of his arm. She leans in closer than before, making an effort not to disturb any of the sleeping passengers next to them. 

“Yes, Harry,” she says, worried about what he could want now.

“Can I get another one of these?” He asks her, holding up the mini-bottle in his hand.

“Harry,” she says, warning in her tone. 

“One more and then I’m done,” he promises, putting his hand on her arm that’s slung over his armrest. She looks at his hand before talking again.

“Harry, I’m sorry but I have to cut you off.” He sighs deeply, leaning back in his chair. He pulls his hand back to run them both over his face. “I don’t think you’re drunk out of your mind yet but I don’t feel right allowing you to get there.”

“It’s one more fucking drink,” he says, voice sharp all of a sudden, louder than necessary as he drops his hands from his face and into his lap. 

“Okay Harry, I understand you’re not having a good time right now but this is not the place for a breakdown. People are sleeping,” she tells him, tone patient, even if her words aren’t so much. 

“I’m having a bloody amazing time actually. But I need another fucking drink,” he says, voice rising again. Ginny hazards a glance behind her, the people awake are looking at them and a lot of the people sleeping are waking up. 

“Harry stop,” she says, her hand grabbing his, her eyes wide with alarm.

“Stop what? I’m fine,” he says, voice still too loud for their surroundings. 

“Okay fine. Get up. Come with me,” she says, standing up and tugging his arm with her. Her voice is quiet but there is an authority to her tone that isn't to be argued with. 

He rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest as he stands up. She doesn’t let go of his hand as she pulls him a few rows back. She pushes him into the bathroom, closing the door behind her as she follows him in. He leans against the side wall as she takes the stop leaning up against the counter of the sink, her arms crossed in front of her. 

“Go,” she commands, expression neutral.

“What?” He asks, squinting against the harsh artificial light of the enclosed space. 

“Talk. Get it out,” she says, expression not changing. “Tell me why you’re still going on this trip. Why you got left at the altar. Why you need to get drunk. All of it,” she adds when he continues to stare at her confused.

“What’s the point?” he asks, voice defeated as he seems to sink into the wall behind him. The confined space of the bathroom only allows them to be a few inches apart at most. The black heels of her uniform leave her about six inches below eye level but with him slouching, they’re about even. 

“Harry. I don’t doubt that you’re in pain for a very good reason. But I cannot have you making a scene. There’s nowhere to go up here alright so this is as private as it gets. I really think talking it out will help you,” she says, gesturing to the small space around them. 

“It’s so pathetic,” he says, bringing a hand up to cover his face. She doesn’t say anything, waiting for him to talk on his own time. When it's obvious she isn’t going to let him off the hook, he talks again.

“We only dated for about a year,” he offers first. “She had actually dated one of my mates in school.” He pauses for a moment, looking up, debating about whether or not to keep going. “He died before we graduated. A car accident.”

“That’s awful,” she says immediately.

“It was a long time ago,” he says, shaking his head under his hand. 

“That doesn’t always make it easier,” she says.

“You’ve lost someone then?” He asks, his hand falling to his side. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No, it's only fair. I’ve asked you to spill.” She doesn’t talk for a few moments, her eyes going out of focus. “I lost my brother a few years ago. Don’t say you’re sorry,” she says, sticking a finger up in his direction when he opens his mouth. “He died in combat, fighting for what he believed in. It was hard without him for a long time. For my mum especially. But we got through it. Doesn’t mean it’s easy, just that we got better at it.” He doesn’t make a move to say anything, eyes misty in contemplation. “Enough of that though, how did you come to date her?”

He seems to snap back into awareness, sobering some. 

“We didn’t start dating for years after that. I’m not a monster,” he says, no smile accompanying his humorous tone. She pityingly smiles at his weak joke. “I’m pretty sure my parents convinced her to go out with me. We had both just graduated from different colleges and they were well into their twenty-second year of being disappointed in me so they started making my decisions for me.”

“You didn’t want to go out with her in the first place?” She asks quietly.

“I didn’t want to go out with anyone really. I think they were scared that I was going to waste the degree that they had just paid for. They figured a scarily intelligent girlfriend would set me straight. Put me on the right path.”

“Did it?”

“Yeah, actually. We had always been friends. I probably had a crush in her at school but she was always with someone else. It didn’t tear me up inside or anything,” he pauses. “We started dating and I fell in love with her. Proposing seemed like the next step. It made my parents happy in the very least.”

“Did it make you happy?” She asks, chewing lightly on her bottom lip.

“I don’t really know anymore. I thought so.” He heaves a heavy sigh, sliding down the wall. There isn’t enough room for him to stretch out his legs so he ends up with his feet against the wall below the counter and his knees propped up in front of him. She looks around, sliding down to meet him. Her shorter stature allows her to stretch out completely. He tries not to notice her legs being right next to his, her heels almost touching his hip. 

“Sorry the room started spinning a bit,” he said, closing his eyes for a second.

“No, I appreciate it actually. I don’t get to sit down much,” she said, settling against the wall.

“I can’t imagine these being all that comfortable,” he says, touching the toe of her black stilettos. At least that's where he aimed. His drunk goggles land his hand on her ankle instead. If he wasn’t pissed, he would blush and move his hand but the smile on her face makes him leave it there.

“So you were saying,” she says, prompting him to continue his story.

“Right so, the engagement. It wasn’t that I was unhappy necessarily. I think it was just too soon for us.” She nods along with him. “I think I did it more for my parents than anything.”

“What makes you think that?”

He thinks about it for a moment, letting himself think about things that he had avoided until now.

“I was always more in love with her than she was with me.” She puts her hand on his knee propped up between them. “She hesitated when I asked her. She didn’t even say yes.” A humorless smile graces his face. “She said sure."

“Harry, I’m sure she must have loved you,” she says, squeezing his knee.

“Is that why she didn’t show up at our wedding?” He snaps. She doesn’t say anything or move her hand. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize. That’s why I brought you in here. Say what you need to say, however you need to say it,” she says, looking at him patiently.

“I should have known right then and there. I should have prolonged the engagement or taken a break. I should have stood up to my bloody parents,” he says, leaning his head back on the wall behind him to face the ceiling.

“It doesn’t do to dwell on the past, Harry.”

“And now,” he takes a deep breath, “I’m not sure if I ever truly loved her.”

“Harry, don’t say that. You’re upset now, that doesn’t mean there wasn’t something meaningful there.” He reaches up with his left hand, grasping hers that lays on his knee.

“That’s the problem though. I don’t think I’m upset anymore. I just feel free.” She smiles at him bracingly.

“I really hope that’s true,” she says, squeezing his hand. “So what happened at the wedding then?”

“I showed up at the venue. I was getting dressed with my mates and her maid of honor walked in and handed me a note.” She takes his hand in hers down from his knee and into her lap, encasing it in both of hers.

“She wrote that she couldn’t marry me because I reminded her too much of high school. Of the accident. That she would feel trapped by me for the rest of our lives.” He stops talking for a while after that, eyes closed, breathing deeply. Her thumb runs over the back of his hand comfortingly as she waits for him to speak again. “So I left with my parents who probably blame me for everything.”

“Is that why you still came on your trip? To escape your parents?” He opens his eyes at that, taken aback for a moment.

“That’s probably a big part of it. I hadn’t really thought about it to be honest. I guess I figured I had already arranged for two weeks off, why not at least get a vacation out of the situation.”

“It might be good to have a break from everything,” she says, “from everyone.”

“I’m starting to see that,” he says with a smile. She looks down at their joined hands, a mysterious little smile on her face.

“Well, when I imagined my honeymoon, I wasn’t single, sitting on the floor of an airplane bathroom, spilling my guts to someone I just met,” he says with a bashful smile.

“Do you feel better now though? At least marginally?” She asks, insecurity in her features for the first time since they’ve met.

“I do actually. More than marginally.” 

“Well that’ll be the alcohol then, I’m sure,” she says not breaking her gaze.

“No that was all you.” She looks away then, no alcohol to save her from blushing. She shakes her head, smiling that strange smile again at him before standing up.

“Come on then, my break was over twenty minutes ago,” she says, holding her hand out to him. He takes, standing up mostly on his own but his hold on her no less strong. Once he’s up, he doesn’t let her hand go, standing as close to her as they’ve been. Their height difference forces her to look up at him while they’re standing this close which she does unapologetically. The air is thick around them, a heavy silence blanketing the space.

He brings up the hand that isn’t wrapped around hers to rest on her cheek, brushing back a piece of bright red hair that must have escaped from the confines of her ponytail somewhere in the course of the flight.

He leans in slowly, giving her every chance to back up, to push him away, to leave. She doesn’t. 

She lifts her hand to his shoulder, steadying herself as she leans closer. She is the one to close the distance, bringing her lips to his. He’s hesitant at first, scared she’ll leave, but she stands firm, gripping his shoulder confidently. It's sweet and slow and lingering and raw and when she pulls back, he follows, pressing a few short innocent kisses to her lips.

“Thank you for this,” he says, breath warm on her lips. She smiles warmly up at him.

“For the kiss or the conversation?”

“Both.” Her other hand works its way up his arm, coming to rest on the side of his neck, fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. She steps up on her toes to capture his lips again. He comes down to meet her, his arm winding around her waist. He pulls her flush against him, her hand getting lost in her hair.

She lets herself get lost for a moment softly sighing into his mouth, reality snapping back when a sharp knock rings from the door. They pull back, but not too far, his arm still around her. 

“It’s time to get back out there, Harry,” she says. She leans up, pressing a kiss to his cheek as his arm reluctantly falls back to his side. She straightens her skirt before unlocking and opening the door. The male flight attendant stands on the outside with his arms crossed and a smirk on his face. 

“I was sent on a mile high club check by our supervisor when it dawned on me that I hadn’t seen Ginny in a good half hour,” he says, a hand raised up to his chin in mock-thought. 

“Oh shove it, Seamus,” she tells him, pushing him out of the way as she walks down the aisle. He just laughs, pulling her ponytail slightly as she passes. Harry sneaks out behind her, Seamus winking jokingly at him on the way by.

* * *

Harry wakes to a warm hand on his shoulder, blinking his eyes open. 

“I figured you could use these,” Ginny says, putting a clear plastic cup with two aspirin onto his tray. 

“Oh my god,” he says, dragging both hands down his face and getting used to the light around him again. “Thank you.” He takes the two pills, washing them down with the bottle of water she brought for him. The plane is emptying out, having just landed. Seats around them are empty as people shuffle to get their bags and file out. 

“I’m sorry for how I was acting before,” he says, taking deep breaths in through his nose until the aspirin kicks in. 

“Don’t apologize. I’m just glad you feel better. If not physically, then emotionally,” she says, her hand steady and comforting on his shoulder. 

“Did I really sleep for the rest of the flight?” He asks, slowly adjusting to the noises around them.

“Yeah you kind of passed out after coming out of the bathroom,” she tells him, smiling warmly. “It was probably for the best though, to sleep off everything you drank.”

Without the alcohol, he blushes now, embarrassment evident in his posture. 

“Yeah, I don’t disagree.”

“I’m afraid you’re going to have to get up now. I gave you as long as I could but there’s almost no one left on the plane,” she tells him.

“Alright, I’m going, I’m going,” he says, heaving a sigh and trying to stand up. She reaches for his arms when he sways, assistance he accepts willingly. 

“Alright?” She asks, concern evident in her face. 

“Yeah, just a little dizzy,” he says, righting himself. She reaches up to grab his carry-on, holding it out to him as he makes his way out into the aisle. She leads the way towards the exit as she follows behind.

“So this is where we part ways,” she tells him, smiling as he comes to a stop in front of her with his carry-on in hand.

“I’d love to meet up with you later if that’s possible,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.

“Harry, I don’t know,” she says, looking at him timidly.

“Right, of course, it was nothing. You were just helping out a sad sack on a one-man honeymoon.”

“No, Harry, that isn’t it at all,” she says stepping closer to him, “It’s just that I leave in two days for a flight to Miami.”

“Oh,” he says, disappointment and relief mixed together evident in his voice.

“I never really stay in one place for very long,” she says, having to face the truth.

“Well I have two weeks off,” he says, a smile returning to his face. “And nothing is particularly tying me to this place. Or anywhere for that matter.”

She smiles at him, taking in the weight of his words. She looks into his eyes, trying to come up with something to say and trying not to be overly optimistic. When she doesn’t say anything, he fills in.

“Can I see your phone?” He asks.

She eyes him warily but hands it over nonetheless. He punches in his number and adds his name to the contact,

“Just take my number and call me.” He hands it back to her as soon as she’s done. “If you want. A lot can happen in two days.”

She smiles as she takes it back, letting her fingers brush over his. 

“I will,” she says, making him smile back. She leans toward him, going up on her toes to press a kiss to his cheek. She pulls away smiling.

“See you, Ginny,” he says, gripping his suitcase and mustering the courage to turn away from her. 

“Bye Harry,” she says smiling as he turns. She watches him disappear around the bend of the boarding bridge, clutching her phone to her chest. 

“Only you, Ginny,” Seamus says, appearing out of the cockpit from behind her.

Normally she would tell him to be quiet, punch him in the arm, roll her eyes. But not today. Today, she just ignores him, looking at her phone, a wide smile on her face.


End file.
